


On Melancholy Hill

by QuokkaFoxtrot



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blowjobs, Deacon has All The Issues, Deacon has Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Generic Sole Survivor, Hand Job, M/M, MacCready has issues too, PWP, Panic Attack, Plot snuck in, and MacCready isn't a walking advertisement for how fucked up he is, because Deacon Just Has To Be Extra, because MacCready broke sarcasm, but based on a stealth build, but not for the overall plot, but they're lower case issues, like woah, lovers to enemies to antagonists with benefits, maybe some genuine affection, nick and cait and piper are in it but don't do a whole heckuva lot, non-standard punctuation use in places, rarepair, references to FO3, shh it'll make sense, some Bittercup/Red vagueshipping, some spoilers for the beginning of the Railroad storyline, spoilers for Deacon & MacCready's backstories, the good samaritan of blowjobs, well mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuokkaFoxtrot/pseuds/QuokkaFoxtrot
Summary: MacCready first meets Deacon in Bunker Hill.Well, no, he doesn’t actuallymeetDeacon for another year, but in Bunker Hill he sees a caravan worker with glasses that reflect the flickering lights over the Savoldi’s bar and that’s as close as most people ever actually get to meeting Deacon.





	On Melancholy Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Gorillaz song of the same name. Because it was stuck in my head and the working title was Bunker Hill so why not.
> 
> Thanks to seaweedredandbrown for the beta.
> 
> Some dialogue is lifted straight from the game.

MacCready first meets Deacon in Bunker Hill. 

Well, no, he doesn't actually _meet_ Deacon for another year, but in Bunker Hill he sees a caravan worker with glasses that reflect the flickering lights over the Savoldi's bar and that's as close as most people ever actually get to meeting Deacon. 

It's dark and it's late and Mac's tired and pissed from a job that took twice as long and paid half as much it should have. He's leaning against the bar, wincing as the moonshine burns down his throat and distracts him from his life for five seconds when he notices the caravan worker at the other end of the bar. Those flickering lenses turn in his direction, eyebrow cocked and head jerking to the side, and staring at him as he walks away. 

Mac downs his Bobrov's, grasps his hat and pushes away from the bar to follow him into the shadows behind the market.

"Name's Mac-"

"You named your dick Mac? Mine's Mr. Wiggles; we're not on a first name basis." He pushes Mac against the wall, the sheet metal and wood rumbling with the impact, and then he's squatting in front of him and working Mac's belt.

"Wait, you don't even care-"

"If I wanted to make friends, would I be sucking dick in the dark?" he asks and somehow his glasses are still glinting even in the dim moonlight.

Mac's mouth flaps uselessly for a moment - usually his friendly, back alley blowjobs with strangers are a little more... friendly - but then Mac's dick is in the caravan workers' hand, lips dragging over the half hard head and Mac stops caring.

It's been almost a year. Three months since he left the Gunners, six months before that stuck doing their dirty work, and two months before that making the long hard journey from the Capital Wasteland. It was before he crossed what passed for a border these days; behind a Red Rocket as a man named Reggie sucked him down and made his eyes cross.

It doesn't take long, now. His fingers curve around the back of the guy's head, feeling smooth skin as he pushes up underneath the cap and it's all he can do not to thrust into the stranger's very willing mouth. There's hands on his hips, fingers digging into his ass, and the suction just gets tighter as he's pulled deep into the guy's throat. He can feel the ripple of muscles as the guy swallows around him and there's a nervous flutter in his stomach, a lightness in his brain, and then he's tensing and spilling into the guy's mouth.

"S-sorry, sh- fu-, sorry," Mac stutters, fumbling to keep his pants up as he slips out of the guy's mouth. "It's been a while; should have warned you. I, geez, I'm sorry, just give me a minute and I'll-"

"Forget it," the guy says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he pushes up from the ground and stumbles back.

"Seriously, man, just let me get my wind back and I'll-"

"Don't bother," the man turns around and hightails it away. He's around the corner before Mac can gather his wits.

"Well, fff-orget you, mister," Mac mutters under his breath, doing up his belt and adjusting his pants as he walks back towards the Savoldi's. He got his rocks off and he doesn't even need a shot of Bobrov's to wash the taste away. Bully for him.

Doesn't mean he's not going to have one anyway.

\---

Three months later, he meets a drifter in Goodneighbor. 

Again, _meets_ is a strong word.

He makes it to the gates with a wild dog snapping at his heels and not a single cap to make leaving the godforsaken town worthwhile. His client was dead at the bottom of a sinkhole, taking everything with him after disturbing a deathclaw nest. Mac'd had to shoot him once, pop, right between the eyes to save him from drowning in thick sludgy mud, or _worse_ , before he ran until his lungs burned and his legs turned to jelly.

It takes him two days to walk back, low on ammo and food, and when he stumbles through the gate he sees a drifter. Now, a drifter in Goodneighbor wouldn't normally make him blink, but he's tired and thirsty and all he can see is the glint off a pair of reflective glasses. 

The guy's bald, wearing flannel and jeans - nothing like the double denim of the guy in Bunker Hill - and to be fair, he barely got a look at the guy's face but something makes his pants twitch and _boy howdy_ , could he use a blowjob right about now.

He sniffs as he walks past, shrugging his jacket as he relaxes and heads to The Third Rail.

One argument about his tab with Whitechapel Charlie later and he's sitting with a bottle of whiskey in the back room. He pours himself a drink and downs it in one. He pours himself another because he deserves it. And another because he's had the worst week imaginable. And another because his cheeks are beginning to tingle and that's a million times better than the sickly feeling he's had sitting in his gut since he took the kill shot.

He leans his head against the back of the sofa and closes his eyes, listening to the distant sound of Magnolia crooning in the next room. One song passes. Two or three or four follow—he's not keeping track—and then the door is scraping closed and the sound muffles.

"Hey! I'm lis'nin' to that!" he yells, drink slurring his speech as his head rolls to the side and he glares towards the hall without opening his eyes.

"This seat taken?" 

The voice is low and bordering on gravelly and Mac cracks an eye to look at him. It's the drifter who reminded him of the caravan worker and he's starting to get really confused.

"Din't you suck my dick'n Bunker Hill?"

"I think you've got the wrong guy, pal," the drifter says, voice smooth as he slides into the space beside Mac on the sofa. "Would you believe it: I've never been to Bunker Hill."

"I wouldn't." Mac sniffs and pours himself another drink, hand unsteady and clinking the bottle into the glass. "You're a drifter. Where else y' gonna go?"

"I've been lots of places." His voice is pitched low and it sends a shiver down Mac's spine; he can't tell if he's being hit on or if he just really wants to be hit on right now.

"Y'get around do ya?" Mac lets a smirk spread across his lips as he takes another sip.

"Oh, the places I have been," the drifter says and then there's a hand sliding onto Mac's thigh. 

"You wanna go to a few more?" Mac asks.

"I think I should hang around here, be a _good neighbor_ for a while." The drifter cups Mac's rapidly hardening dick as he slips to his knees.

Mac slouches down on the sofa, legs spreading and arm hooking over the back, as he takes a sip and watches. The drifter elbows his knees apart and undoes Mac's belt before lifting him out. 

There's something reverent, yet almost desperate, in the way he drags his lips up the shaft. His eyes are closed, hands holding Mac's hips in place as he focusses diligently on his work.

Mac's so relaxed, finally; so open to letting his head roll back on his neck, to letting his eyes drift shut, to letting the sensations flit through his body like electricity under his skin. He feels it, it's rippling and shuddering through him and then he's gone.

He takes a shuddering breath and opens his eyes and- 

The lights are dim. There's no sound coming from the doorway; no Magnolia effortlessly seducing the room. He's been tucked away but his pants aren't done up, and he's alone.

"Son of a..." he mutters to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. He doesn't even know the drifter's name. It's getting to be a habit. 

He does up his pants and lies down on his side, pulling his hat over his eyes. If he doesn't have to reciprocate, at least he can get some shut-eye.

The next time he wakes up, Winlock and Barnes get in his face trying to run him out of the Commonwealth. The second they leave, he meets Nora.

Nora turns his life upside down. 

\---

A week later, Nora takes him to Diamond City. 

There's some broad demanding to be let in when they get there. Nora tells him to cool his heels and heads over to smooth their way through the door. Mac's not surprised when the broad ropes her into the act. He keeps an ear out and scopes the area while waiting for the door to open. 

When it finally does, the _Mayor_ is waiting to ream the broad, _Piper_ , for wasting time and telling tall tales or whatever it is he's going on about, but he's not paying attention anymore because out of the corner of his eye, he sees a glint off a pair of sunglasses.

 _Son of a_...

He's a guard, now; wearing the armour and the rest of the get-up, smoking a cigarette and pretending like nothing's happening.

Mac eyes him up, shifting closer as he stares at his stupid bald head. 

"Welcome to the, uh, Great Green Jewel. You're totally going to love it here," the _guard_ says and his voice sends a little shiver up Mac's spine. He'd find that unusual, but the last time he heard that voice he got sucked so good he passed out, so he doesn't question it.

"MacCready," Nora calls, jerking her head towards the stadium gates. "You coming?"

"Right behind you, boss." Mac backs away from the guard and follows Nora into the city.

They spend hours walking around; they get noodles from Takahashi, Nora agrees to get a bloatfly gland for some scientist broad (he'd scoffed at her, but when she demanded money for it, he couldn't help but like the cut of her jib), and then she spends so much time talking to some detective's secretary that he feels like he's going to fall asleep on his feet.

That's probably why, when they walk into The Dugout Inn late that night and Vadim Bobrov asks him about Lucy, it feels like he's been hit in the chest with a shot from a Fat Boy.

"She didn't make it, Vadim," he hears himself say, but the air is rushing in his ears and he has to swallow against a wave of sudden, inexplicable vertigo. "We done for the night, boss? I gotta... I gotta go get some air." He sees her wave him off and then he's stumbling back out into the city.

He wishes Diamond City were bigger; he circles the main thoroughfare three times before huffing and leaning against a wall to stare at the sky. 

It's been three years. His heart shouldn't tighten and choke him every time he thinks of her unexpectedly, every time he remembers Duncan, back with Bittercup and Red in Big Town growing sicker by the day. He feels like screaming and there isn't a damn thing he can do to make any of it better.

"Excuse me, sir, there's no loitering here." 

The voice comes from his right and when he opens his eyes he sees the glint of light off a pair of glasses and has to bite back the urge to swear.

"Look, I know you ain't no guard. So unless you're here to suck my dick again, you can keep walking, stranger," Mac says, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching over. The last thing he wants right now is conversation.

The guard looks him up and down, glances over his shoulder and then gestures above Mac. "Up into the stands, pal. I think I got something you might need."

"I don't want chems, man, would you just-"

"Oh, so you want me to just keep walking?" The guard cuts him off, self-satisfied smirk plastering his face. "See you 'round, then..."

"Wait, seriously?" Mac stares at the guard, eyes narrowing. "...Do I get to touch your dick this time?"

"I don't know what you mean about _this time_ ," the guard says with an air of innocence so false Mac can smell the stink of it. "Follow me." He hoists himself up the wall and starts the hike up the seats.

Mac stares after him for a while before giving a helpless sigh and following. He picks his way through the detritus - plastic seats, debris, and a thick layer of the ash that covers everything in the wasteland - until he's standing under the Colonial Taphouse. There's a cleaner area here - some sort of rug, a couple of cans of water, alcohol, a pair of binoculars - and the guard pats a space beside him and gestures with a flourish. The sound of music and footsteps from above muffles whatever sound they make.

"Pull up a pew. You look like you could use something to occupy your mind," the guard says and picks up a bottle of whiskey.

"I'm on the clock," Mac says with a shake of his head flopping down on the rug beside the guard. "Can't risk getting wasted."

The guard nods and puts the bottle down. "Straight to the dick-sucking then. I can dig that," he says twisting around onto his knees in front of Mac and reaching for his belt.

"Wow," Mac says, putting a hand over the guard's. "Do you ever just stop and _think_ about what you're doing for a second? Just a single second?"

"Not if I can help it," the guard says with a shrug. "That way lies madness."

Mac stares at the guard's glasses, seeing his face twisted and distorted in the reflection. He raises a hand to lift them off but the guard's hand snaps to his wrist and hold his arm in place.

"Don't," the guard says and the tone is the lowest and most serious Mac's heard from him, nothing flippant or jocular about it. 

He holds his hand where it is and he can tell that this is a turning point. He knows that if he lets it slide, he'll get his dick sucked and may even get to suck a dick in return. If he pushes it? He doesn't know this guy, has no clue what his reactions will be; he's sneaky enough to pretend to be a Diamond City guard right under their noses, what kind of guy can just _do_ that?

He lets go of the arm of the guard's glasses and feels his wrist released in turn. 

The guard pauses for a moment, studying Mac, before returning his hand to Mac's zipper. He gives a questioning tug to the fly and waits for Mac to grunt his assent before pulling it all the way down and reaching in.

Mac's still soft this time but the guard's warm breath has him hardening as he's enveloped in his mouth. He closes his eyes and lets himself relax into it; he's gotten more action in the past three months than he's had in years, but he's still finding it hard to last long enough to actually _enjoy_ the experience. 

The guard's got his hand on Mac's hip, encouraging him to move into his mouth. 

As his hips start to shift, Mac can't remember anyone ever letting him do this, let alone encouraging it. He can feel small desperate sounds vibrating around his dick and has to bite his lip to stop himself from echoing them. The guard's fingers are digging into his hips and the pinch of pain makes him start panting and oh shh- he's going to come so much sooner than he wants to.

He cups the base of the guard's head, rolling his hips into his mouth, and looks down to watch his dick sliding in and sees over the top of the guard's glasses.

The guard's eyes open.

Mac sees a flash of blue and then he's curling and squeezing his eyes shut as he empties himself into the guard's mouth.

When he finally opens his eyes, the guard's still there sucking him through the aftershocks before easing off and sitting back on his heels. Mac's breathing heavy, but he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he comes down from his high.

"That was..." he trails off when he realises how close the guard is. 

His lips are glistening and Mac still can't see what's going on behind those glasses, but he's so close and-

He kisses him. 

His mouth is soft and relaxed as he moves against the spit-slicked lips of the guard, eyes drifting closed as he sighs into the touch.

There's a sharp shove to his chest and then the guard's giving a strangled _no_ as he stumbles backwards. 

The guard scrambles to his feet, knocking over junk and debris as he pushes away. He looks rattled as he runs his hand over his scalp and lets out a breath. 

"Did you hear that? Radio says there's, uh, a deathclaw incursion at the south wall," the guard says, adjusting his clothes as he backs down the stands away from Mac. "Deathclaws and, uh, mole rats. On leashes. Being commanded by a pack of Super Mutant Behemoths. Sounds, uh- sounds super bad. I gotta go save the day."

Mac stares after him, dumbstruck and unable to get his brain to process what just happened. 

The guard's hotfooting it over the edge of the stands and down into Diamond City proper and he's running so fast that he's disappeared into the Markets before Mac can blink.

His dick's still hanging out of his pants, his thighs are warm where they were pressed against the guard's sides and he has to shake his head to get his mouth to close. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, struggling to get his mind to focus. 

He hadn't felt so thoroughly rejected since he tried to kiss Penny when he was fifteen. At least he didn't get hit this time.

"Fuck." 

He tucks himself away and heads back to the Dugout. 

He lucks out and Nora's asleep when he slips into their room, so he lays on the sofa, pulls a blanket over him and buries his face in his cap. With any luck, whatever Nora's working on will distract him so completely that he'll forget all about the caravan worker-slash-drifter-slash-guard who keeps blowing him at unexpected times.

Even better, he might stop thinking about why he _wants_ to blow him back.

\---

Over the next six months, Nora drags him all over the Commonwealth. From Sanctuary to Poseidon Energy and Mahkra Fishpacking to Natick. She'd been by his side as they took down Winlock and Barnes and he'd been so damn grateful he told her why he was in the Commonwealth in the first place. He'd almost cried when she told him they'd get that cure.

But in all that time he hadn't seen hide nor hair of a bald guy whose glasses reflected the light no matter where he stood. Not in Bunker Hill, not in Goodneighbor. The little hideaway under the Colonial Taphouse in Diamond City was cleared out and deserted the last time they went through. It couldn't have been any clearer if he'd painted a big old sign reading _FUCK OFF, MACCREADY_. He could take a hint.

Nora kept him on his toes; kept him from focussing too much on what _wasn't_ there. They were heading back to Goodneighbor from Hubris Comics when she stopped at Boston Common.

"I'd back away from there, Boss," Mac said looking over her shoulder into the park with a wary eye. "I've never seen him, but stories about Swan give me the willies."

"I'm not going in, Bobby," Nora says, waving him off. "Someone's been leaving holotapes around about the Railroad. Got to admit, the Freedom Trail's got me curious."

"Sheez, the _Railroad_? You got better things to do with your time." 

"Come on, it'll be fun," Nora says, pulling out her silenced 10mm and following the red line, keeping a cautious eye on the buildings around them.

Mac huffs and brings his rifle up close to his chest, scoping out buildings as he follows her through the city.

By the time they make it to the end of the line at the Old North Church, Mac has more Super Mutant on him than he ever wanted and an even greater dislike for the Railroad.

"Oh good; ghouls. That's new," Mac says drily as they enter the church and are beset by a number of the feral terrors.

"Shut up and shoot!"

It's over in a flash, a pile of desiccated bodies laying over the pews in disarray.

"At journey's end follow Freedom's lantern." Nora grins and points back toward the direction they came in. 

Of course there's a picture of a lantern. Subtle.

"Lead on." Mac sighs. He isn't getting paid enough for this shit; he seriously needs to renegotiate.

He follows her downstairs and _of course_ they end up in a crypt and _of course_ there's a code they have to figure out to make a ~secret~ door open and _of course_ the Railroad introduce themselves with a dramatic flash of light and _of course_ he wants to shoot himself in the face just to make the pageantry stop.

Nora and ~Desdemona~ dance around actually saying what they mean - though he does admire when Nora pulls one over on her - and then _it_ happens.

Desdemona's asking who Nora is when someone walks in behind them.

"Deacon, where've you been?"

 _Deacon_ has a full head of hair, a white tee, a dirty pair of jeans, and glasses that reflect the light no matter where he's standing. 

"You're having a party. What gives with my invitation?"

Mac's hand clenches on the barrel of his gun.

That _voice_.

That-... That... _fucking fucker_.

Mac's blood boils in his ears and he has to exercise all his restraint to keep his finger off the trigger. They're talking and he doesn't give a shit about what but when Nora says she'll help them out he can't help but huff his displeasure.

"Don't do it, Boss," he says when the meeting's over. "This one can't be trusted." He glares at _Deacon_.

"Hey, we're all friends here," Deacon says, holding out his arms expansively.

"You're nobody's friend, _pal_ ," Mac says and it's only Nora's hand on his chest that keeps him from clocking the smug look off Deacon's smug face.

"Look, I gotta work with them," Nora says, pushing him and walking him backwards into the crypt. "I gotta find Shaun. Remember, Bobby? My son? Who was kidnapped by the Institute?"

Mac softens at the mention of Shaun, his heart going out to her as he thinks of Duncan. "Just be careful, alright. That guy? _Deacon_? He's bad news."

"I'll be careful. You know me; always sneaking, always invisible right under your nose," she smirks and punches him softly on the shoulder. "You okay getting back to Sanctuary on your own? The quicker I get this job done, the quicker this is all over."

"I guess," Mac relents and shoulders his rifle before looking at Deacon. "You. If anything happens to her, you're gonna _wish_ you were dead."

"Oh, am I?" Deacon says, face neutral. "Am I really? Am I gonna wish I was dead? How dead am I gonna wish I was? _Really_ dead or just _dead_ dead?"

"That's _enough_." Nora steps between them, directing a pointed look at Mac. "Bobby, I'll see you at Sanctuary. Deacon, lead the way."

Mac watches her go, shaking his head and clenching his fist as _Deacon_ gives him a cheeky, two-fingered salute and ambles after Nora. He glares at the leftover Railroad members and skulks out when he makes eye contact with the one holding the minigun and almost pisses himself in fear.

He spends the next three months at Sanctuary either patrolling or farming, and if it weren't for the fact that Nora dumped Deacon there after the Railroad mission so she could go off with Cait to do... something, he would have enjoyed his downtime. 

He avoids Deacon and Deacon avoids him, which is exactly how he wants it. If Deacon's on guard, Mac has some mutfruit to tend to. If Deacon's working on the gourds, Mac's got a guard post to stand on and look busy. 

If anyone asked him how he was, he'd say he was fine and move on. If he told the truth? He was wound so tight the slightest thing could set him off. 

Deacon wasn't even trying to _hide_ the fact that he changes identities like some people change their underpants with his whole 'I'm just a settler working the earth' get-up. It looks suspiciously like his 'I'm just a caravan worker working the sniper at the bar' attire and that about makes his blood boil.

Nora comes back one day, drops Cait off and calls Deacon to her side. She comes over to where he's working the razorgrain and leans against the fence before she leaves. "I got a lead about that facility; word has it that there's super mutants and deathclaws in the area and ghouls inside. I want you to pack a kit. We're going to need to bring out the big guns if we want to make it in there alive. And all the ammunition you can get your hands on if we're going to make it _out_."

"We're really going to do this?" Mac asks and his heart's in his throat; all it would take to destroy his hope would be a word from her.

"Soon as I'm done with this job for the Railroad," she says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Be ready, Bobby. We'll head out when I get back."

He's in the armory before she's even set foot outside Sanctuary's perimeter.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't pack and repack and reconsider every item he lays out in the two days that Nora and Deacon are gone. He can't decide what's more important: more missiles or a wider range of grenades. 

He'd been through Nora's Special Collection for a missile launcher that somehow managed to do _so much_ more damage than every other missile launcher he'd ever encountered. Nora called it Betsy; Mac called it a Deathclaw's Worst Nightmare.

He'd spent so much time fretting that _Nick_ had goaded him, with his low, rough voice and kind - creepy as hell, but still somehow kind - eyes, into joining him for a game of checkers. He'd sat beside the fire eating noodles and playing checkers as Nick told stories of some of his earlier cases, and Cait - surprisingly sober-eyed - sat nearby and told them how many ways she would have punched the bad guys. 

Mac finds himself laughing and relaxing in a way that he hasn't felt for months. It almost feels like some nights back in Little Lamplight.

He guesses that's why, when Nora and Deacon come back, his tension ratchets up a thousand notches. Just seeing his glinting glasses over Nora's shoulder make him feel like a spring coiled tight.

Nora waves as she walks towards them. "Time to head out."

"I knew you couldn't live without me," Mac smirks, trying to force a level of flippancy he really isn't feeling.

"Still killing people for caps, MacCready?" 

"I don't know... you still pretending to be anyone but _yourself_?" Mac spits and it uncoils in him, not like a spring but a _viper_.

"Deacon, don't be an ass. Mac, cool it," Nora says, tone pointed and sharp, as she steps between them. "Grab your kit, we leave in ten."

Mac huffs as he stalks past Deacon and grabs the bag from the armory. By the time he makes it back, Deacon's skulking back into the shadows like the devious asshole he is and Nora's leaning against the back of Nick's chair watching as Cait continues the game they left off.

"All set, Boss," he says, hoisting the kit onto his back. "I got Betsy out for you. Figure a Deathclaw's gonna need to get its face rearranged."

"Ah, a man after my own heart," Nora grins and takes the missile launcher off him. "Remember, Betsy comes out, you _stay in cover_. It hurts more if they don't expect it."

"See, I just don't think that's how it works," Mac says with a shake of his head.

"We can argue about it on the way, let's go." Nora waves her goodbyes to those around the campfire and then they're off.

When they pass the Red Rocket, Nora glances over her shoulder and then looks Mac straight in the eye. 

"Whatever it is between you and Deacon? Sort it out," Nora says and Macready can't help but swallow.

"It's nothing-"

"It's _not_ nothing, Bobby," Nora says, huffing in frustration. "I've had him taking potshots at you for the past few days, and then whatever _that_ was back there? It's not nothing."

Mac opens his mouth to speak but Nora cuts him off.

"I couldn't give less of a shit about _what_ it is. I just need my team to be... a team," she sighs and rolls her eye skywards. "You're all so different, but... you're all I've got out here. You're my family. I want my family to be happy."

"Fine," Mac huffs, shifting under the openness of her gaze. "When we get back I'll... I- You know I can't promise anything, right? If he's going to be an... noying then I can't change anything."

"Oh, he'll be amenable to conversation," Nora says with a knowing look. "I've made sure of it."

"Y'know, when you get super confident about something, I get scared," Mac says with a shake of his head, turning towards the horizon and continuing to walk. "So I'm just not even going to ask."

Nora laughs, rich and deep, and nudges his shoulder as they continue to walk.

They manage to avoid conflict from Concord to Wildwood Cemetery. Radroaches and bloodbugs try and take them out as they try to skirt south to Taffington Boathouse but Nora's 10mm makes quick work of them.

There are Super Mutants at the hospital and synths in Malden and it's only through quick thinking and a lot of stealth that Nora manages to guide them to a parking lot before a deathclaw crashes through the streets. 

With a finger to her lips, Nora motions for Mac to stay where he is and then moves silent and sure through the structure putting a quick two rounds in every ghoul body she sees. When the coast is clear, they hurry to the roof and set up a sniper's perch. 

"Deathclaw's still in the area. We can make it to the door, but who knows what state we'll be in when we come out. I'd rather take it down now," Nora says, pulling out Betsy and loading a missile into it. "Stay out of sight until you hear the first explosion, then shoot until the fucker stays down. Got me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mac says, settling in and looking down the scope toward the road.

Nora disappears and a minute later Mac hears the explosion. He scans the area for the rampaging deathclaw, but everything's silent.

"Don't bother," Nora whispers into his ear, making him jump and almost shoot off a round in defense. "Betsy dropped it like a sack of shit. Now, let's go get your kid's medicine."

The interior of Med-Tek is almost a letdown after all the trouble to get inside. Though, he has to admit, if it hadn't been for Nora's silent and measured approach to taking out all the feral ghouls, they would have been swarmed, possibly overwhelmed.

When they finally find the medicine, Nora hands it to Mac and he almost cries. He wraps her in a tight hug, burying his face in her neck as his breath comes in heaving gulps.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," he says as he leans back, looking at her with dewy eyes. "I don't know how- I don't think I _can_ ever pay you back."

"It's no problem, Bobby. You just go cure your son." Nora smiles at him, soft and gentle with a tinge of sadness in her eyes as she smoothes a hand down his shoulder. "When we get back to Sanctuary, we'll set you up for the journey. Anything you need."

"No, nuh- no," Mac shakes his head. "We gotta go to Goodneighbor; Daisy can get it on a caravan that'll have it there in a week."

"You're not going, too? Bobby, he's your _son_ ," Nora says, looking shocked.

"Yeah, he's my son. And right now he's somewhere safe with people I trust and I..." He swallows and looks at her, straightening his back and trying to sound sure. "I've gotta become someone he can _respect_. So... I'm staying here. And maybe when we've turned this place upside down and shaken out all the bad guys, he can come and live here. In Sanctuary. With me. If I start now, I could actually build us a home."

"I'd be honored to help you." Nora aims a broad smile at him and slings an arm around his shoulder. "To Goodneighbor!"

It feels like a whirlwind but it's barely a day later that the cure is in Daisy's hands and they're almost back at Sanctuary.

"I meant it about Deacon, Bobby," Nora says as they make their way up the road beside the Red Rocket. "I was going to give you a pass when I thought you'd be heading to the capital when we were done, but if you're staying, something's gotta give."

"I was hoping you'd forgotten," Mac hedges, adjusting his rifle on his shoulder.

"Nothing slips past this old bear trap," Nora says tapping the side of her head. "Just... just talk to him. And if you really can't work out how to be civil to each other then... then I guess I'll just have to try and keep you guys apart."

"No promises," Mac says and reaches over to squeeze Nora's hand as they walk across the bridge into Sanctuary. "But after everything you've done for me? For you, Boss, I'll give it my best damn shot."

"Ah, genuine emotion, my one weakness. I trust you, Bobby. Oh- There's Preston, I gotta go," Nora says with a quick laugh, squeezing back before letting go and ducking into the nearest cabin to talk to Preston.

Mac shakes his head and makes his way through town, feeling lighter than he has in months, possibly even years. He's got a future now. A future with _Duncan_ in it. He can stop running like the coward he is and try and be a real man now. 

His cabin's at the far end of town. It's one room and it's got a bed and a table and a chair and a lamp and it's his. As he steps through the door, he starts thinking about how to make it better. He could add another room or two, one for Duncan to sleep in, to play in, one for them to sit on a couch, his body tucked against his side as he reads to him until he falls asleep. He thinks about lifting Duncan's small, sleeping body and tucking him into bed and it's almost enough to make him regret not taking the cure back to Big Town himself.

There's a knock at the door as Mac leans his rifle against the wall near the end of the bed and any sadness and regret he felt ratchets straight into tension and annoyance.

 _Deacon_.

He opens the door to see him leaning against the door jamb, white tee and pale blue denim clinging tight to his body and that stupid pompadour wig making him look much more attractive than he has any right to be.

"Nora got to you, didn't she," Mac says, squinting out through the town to see if he can spot her watching.

"What's a few threats between friends, huh?" Deacon says, smile disingenuous as he looks past Deacon. "Can I come in? The fewer witnesses the better."

"Fine," Mac says, stepping back and stomping over to his table to flop down on his chair. "Shut the door behind you."

"Look, let me start, okay," Deacon says, standing in the middle of the room with a hand splayed across his chest in some sort of show of 'honesty'. "I'm _sorry_ I said you killed people for caps. I should have implied it. That's totally my fault."

Mac clenches his teeth, eyeing the bottle of whiskey on the table. 

"Well, _I'm sorry_ I said you pretended to be anyone but yourself; you're clearly just a hollow shell filled with bitterness and clichés," Mac bites out.

"I'm glad we got that sorted out," Deacon says, voice over bright and cheerful. "I'll go tell Nora that we worked things through. Good talk."

Deacon turns and Mac groans.

"Wait, stop, fff- shhh, Ugh. Fudge it." Mac pinches the bridge of his nose and leans forward in his chair. "I promised Nora I'd actually, y'know, _talk_ to you. And there's a lot of promises I'll break, but not to her. Not now."

"She's like that, isn't she," Deacon says, a small but sincere smile tugging at the side of his mouth.

"Well that's one thing we can agree on," Mac says with a heaving sigh. "Nora's better than both of us."

"I'll drink to that," Deacon says, looking around the room before deciding to sit on the edge of Mac's bed.

"Might have to if we're going to get through this," Mac says reaching for the whiskey and two glasses, pouring a couple of fingers in each and nudging one toward Deacon. "I'll go first. Why'd you suck my dick that first time?"

"You were there." Deacon shrugs and, at Mac's pointed glare, sighs and elaborates. "That's all it was. You were there, okay? I figured I'd try and if I swung out, it wasn't a big deal.

"And the second time?"

"I recognized you from the first time. Figured you'd be up for it."

"And the _third_ time? Was that just convenience, too?"

"Well, yeah, a little of that," Deacon says. "Also, you looked like you needed a distraction. I was there. Why not?"

"But, why all the secrecy if you just wanted to suck some dick? Why pretend we'd never met? Was it some bizarre little game to get you off?" Mac asks and he's genuinely confused; has _been_ genuinely confused since the last time.

"Look, I work for the Railroad. I was on Railroad business. My job's mainly intel, so the more places I go, the better I'm doing it."

"Did you need _intel_ on my _dick_?" Mac asks, incredulous.

"I didn't think you'd recognize me," Deacon says, and he seems genuinely confused that Mac made him.

"You were wearing a hat one time. That's it. A _hat_. How do you even- Does that actually _work_?"

"Nobody's ever looking for me," Deacon says and it's so matter of fact that Mac can't help but hear it as painfully sad. "I slip through the cracks and hear what needs to be heard because I'm just... wallpaper."

"That's so fff- That's really-"

"Wait, let me ask a question," Deacon says, leaning forward, brow furrowing. "Why do you do that? Why do you always cut yourself off when you swear? Is it a-... Is it a religious thing? Are you, like, secretly a Child of Atom? I mean, it's okay if you are- What am I saying, it's totally not okay. Should I get tested?"

"No. No it's... Uh-" Mac takes a sip of whiskey, taking the time to feel the burn as it slides down his throat. He promised he'd talk but this feels too raw, too... intimate. He glances up and Deacon looks perplexed. After all this, all this talk and all this honesty, he doesn't think Deacon will use it against him. Mock him mercilessly, sure. But nothing malicious. "I, uh, I have a son. His name's Duncan and he's... he's real sick. He's back in the Capital Wasteland and... It's so- I made him a promise, okay? I promised him I'd stop saying _bad_ words."

"And you're still doing it? Even though he's not here to hear you?" Deacon asks with an expression that Mac can't interpret. "That's actually... kinda sweet."

"Look, I knew you were just going to make fun of me, so can we just-"

"No, pal, I'm sorry, I really mean it." Deacon waves his hand for Mac to sit back down. "He means that much to you; it's not something you see much these days. It's good... Shit. That's why you're doing the Merc thing, isn't it? For him?"

"Food and medicine don't just grow on trees," Mac shrugs. "What about you? Any family?"

Deacon makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, looks at his glass and swallows the remaining whiskey in one gulp. He leans forward and holds his hand out for the bottle and, when Mac hands it over, pours himself a staggering quantity of the stuff. 

He sips it, which tempers Mac's shock, and scrubs a hand over his scalp.

"I don't want to tell you," Deacon says and Mac shrugs and rolls his eyes.

"You don't have to-"

"I don't want to tell _anyone_ ," Deacon interrupts before taking a larger gulp and setting his cup aside. "I wasn't always the sterling specimen you see before you. I... I did some pretty terrible things."

"I was so desperate I ran with the Gunners for a few months; we've all done things we're not proud of," Mac says, brow furrowing.

"This isn't- I wasn't _desperate_. I was... I was a fucking waste of space," Deacon sighs and looks at his glass. "I was in a gang. We- They- _I_... _I_ bullied people, chased them down, harassed them. We fucking played _god_ with people's lives because they weren't like us... because we thought they were... synths."

"Woah," Mac blinks, glass clunking against the tabletop as his hand drops in shock. "So... the Railroad...?"

"That came years later," Deacon says, reaching up underneath his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "If they'd been around then, maybe it wouldn't... Maybe things would have..." Deacon sits up and looks Mac straight in the eye. "We killed a guy; straight up murdered him. Because he might have been a synth. Don't know if he was. I freaked out. Ran away. Became a farmer. Married the love of my life. _Barbara_." Deacon picks up his glass with a shaking hand and takes a sip, pulling in a shuddering breath before continuing. "The gang tracked us down. Killed her in front of me." He huffs a bitter laugh and knocks back the last of his whiskey. "They found out she was a synth... I had no idea. We were trying for kids."

"Damn," Mac breathes, automatically reaching for the bottle and topping up Deacon's glass. "I had no idea..."

"You're not supposed to," Deacon says with a sniff, wiping under his glasses with the edge of his wrist. "You're not supposed to see me, and you're not supposed to hear me, and you're not supposed to- Shit, I should never have- Forget this, we talked. We're done-"

"You're guilty," Mac says, raising as Deacon does and stepping between him and the door. "You _feel_ guilty. That's why- No, wait, stop, man. Stop. I'm not judging you." Mac puts a hand on his chest to halt him in place. "I get it. I mean, I know what you- I don't actually know what you mean, but I- heh." Mac clears his throat, looks away, can feel a clenching at the base of his neck and he wants to curl up but he also wants to _tell Deacon that he understands_. 

"Lucy." Mac blurts. "My wife. Her name was Lucy. We were trying to get to Rivet City, her and me and Duncan and it was night. There were Super Mutants and fff- Centaurs everywhere, so we went into the subway; thought we'd be safe. But... Ferals. They grabbed her and- I couldn't- I grabbed Duncan and I ran and I ran and I _fucking ran_ \- I should have gone back for her, I should have- I could have saved her. I could have- It should have been _me_ , but I-"

"Hey, it's okay, breathe. Just breathe. You're not there now. You're in Sanctuary," Deacon grabs Mac by the shoulders, leaning down to look him in the eye. 

Mac can only see his own reflection staring back at him in Deacon's glasses and he can't catch his breath. He's breathing so much but there's no air, there's nothing, he's a fuck-up and there's no way he can ever be a good dad to Duncan, there's no way he can ever make up for killing his mother, he's just a waste of space and he should have-

"Hey, look at me," Deacon says sharply, ripping his glasses off so he's staring Mac straight in the eye. "You're in Sanctuary. You're safe. Everything's okay. Well, it's not _okay_ , but you're not dying. Okay? MacCready, can you hear me? Say it with me: _I'm not dying_."

Mac's still breathing hard and fast and not even seeing Deacon's full face for the first time can stop him from shaking his head _no no nonononono._

Deacon wraps an arm around Mac's shoulder and guides him down to the bed, sitting beside him as he guides Mac's hand to his chest. "Feel that? That's my heartbeat. You're here, now, and you're okay. Just breathe. You're not dying. You're okay. You're so okay. You're the okayest."

Mac tries to focus on Deacon's breathing, feels his heartbeat underhand and buries his face in Deacon's shoulder. His breathing comes in shuddery lurches, and there's a damp patch on Deacon's shirt, but he's leaving that dark subway tunnel and he's coming back to his little cabin in Sanctuary.

"If I'd... known..." Mac says between shuddering breaths. "That... that blow... job would... lead to this? ... I would... have said... _no.“_

Deacon laughs, a low rumble under Mac's hand and cheek, and squeezes his shoulder. "What do you mean? You mean you _didn't_ want to share your darkest memories with an antagonistic acquaintance?"

"Asshole." Just for that, Mac wipes his nose on Deacon's shirt. "How'd you even do that? It's like, whoever it is you are? You're not _that_."

Deacon shifts and for a brief, confusing moment, Mac thinks he's going to let go. "I used to have... nightmares, sometimes. Wake up sweating and screaming. A friend of mine, she'd... calm me down, somehow. Talk me through it, remind me where I was. The memory of her heartbeat under my hand stops me going off the deep end sometimes. I couldn't- You just don't leave someone _there_. Even if they are an arrogant little pip-squeak."

"Who you calling pipsqueak? I could shoot your stupid wig off your head from the other side of town," Mac says through a yawn.

"I should go," Deacon says, trying to slip away. "That kind of stuff can be, y'know, tiring. And we talked - hooray - so I don't-"

"Lie down," Mac says, pushing Deacon until he's laying on the bed before scooting over to stretch out on his back beside him. "I'm not the only one going through shit here. What was it you said? You just don't leave someone _there_. You've sucked my dick; you're not going to catch anything from a nap."

"You say that now," Deacon says, body rigid beside Mac. "But when I have to show Curie a rash, it's all gonna be on you."

"Curie won't bat an eye and you know it," Mac says, whapping Deacon light on the chest with his knuckles. "Sheez, will you relax? I'm not going to put the moves on you... y'know, not unless you want me to." Mac smirks and looks at Deacon out of the corner of his eye, rolling up onto his side when he sees his face.

Deacon's eyes are scrunched up, hands fisted tight at his sides and Mac doesn't think he's ever seen him _this_ tense before.

"Hey, I was joking," Mac says, wanting to reach out but wary of snapping what looks like a thin layer of resolve. "I'm not going to do anything if you don't- Wait, I'm confused. Do you not want to be touched? It looks like you don't want to be touched, but we've touched before; you were just hugging me and-"

"I don't... know what... I'm doing," Deacon grinds out in a low tone. "I don't do this. I don't do _this._ I get what I need and I'm gone. I don't hang around. I don't do it more than once. I don't... I don't deser- _I don't get to do this_." 

"You don't 'get to do this'?" Mac asks, tone wary. "You sound like you know more than me; I don't even know what _this_ is."

"It's... _comfortable_ ," Deacon almost spits, raising an arm and dropping it over his eyes. "I don't even- How can you just _lie there_ and share a bed with me? I just told you what I did - what I _am_ \- and you want to take a _nap_? Make out?"

"I was hoping for some over the clothes action," Mac says, giving Deacon's chest a gentle pat in response to his glare. "Like it's something you wouldn't have said in my position."

Deacon sneers for a moment, then concedes the point and drops his arm back over his eyes.

"We've all done things we're not proud of, but that doesn't mean we don't get to, I don't know..." Mac nudges Deacon a little. "...Reciprocate a blowjob from a stranger?"

"I don't- I can't- I haven't- Not since..." Deacon shifts, uncomfortable as he moves away from Mac.

"Not since what?" Mac asks, putting a soft hand on Deacon's hip to stop him from going.

"Not since... Barbara." Deacon stares at the ceiling, refusing to make eye contact.

"Holy..." Mac stares at Deacon, jaw dropped. "Not even-" He makes a jerking motion with his hand, eyes widening further at Deacon's jaw clenching and the small nod that follows. "What's it been? A decade? More?"

Deacon practically grinds his teeth as he turns his head to the side and looks away.

"Wow. If it's been that long, then you really _aren't_ on a first name basis with your dick anymore, huh?" 

Deacon whips his gaze back, glare burning in his eyes, and Mac can't help but snort.

"Holy sshhh-oot, man, you should see the look on your face," Mac says, snickering with glee. "It was the first thing you ever said to me. You expect me to forget it?"

"Nobody remembers the shit I say to them," Deacon says, expression relaxing into a perplexed confusion. "What even are you?"

"I'm the guy who's going to touch your dick, if you let him," Mac says, hand slipping to Deacon's hip, stopping just short of his thigh.

"What are we doing?" Deacon asks, gaze dropping to Mac's lips as he licks his own reflexively.

"First, I'm going to give you a handjob - because you'd probably pop the second I got you in my mouth, so no blowjob for you. Then we're probably going to nap for a while. After that? We go get dinner with everyone else; fight and snipe at each other, because that's what we do best. Then I'm going to play checkers with Nick and Cait, you're going to skulk around the edges of town pretending to be doing something _important_ so you don't have to talk to anyone, and Nora's going to make sad eyes at both of us. And when we're done with that? I'm going to go to bed. And if someone happened to join me? Well, it probably wouldn't be a bad thing." Mac eyes Deacon for a moment. "Unless someone kicks, then someone can find somewhere else to sleep."

Deacon snorts, a soft chuckle slipping through his lips. "It's that easy, huh?" He asks, sliding a tentative hand over top of Mac's on his hip.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Mac responds, the pads of his fingers rubbing against the soft, worn denim of Deacon's jeans as he leans closer. "I touch your dick, you touch my dick, sometimes we fight, but mostly there's a lot of dick." Mac dips lower, dragging his lower lip against Deacon's. A low laugh escapes in a quick huff as Deacon nips his lower lip and then it's just a slow slip and glide.

Deacon's hand tightens a little around the back of Mac's hand and pulls it towards his fly, squeezing and holding it in place for a moment before letting it go.

Mac smiles into the kiss as he pops Deacon's button, feeling Deacon's fingers tentative against his cheek. He's sliding his hand into the gap, easing the zipper down with his thumb before slipping his fingers to the apex of Deacon's thigh. He feels Deacon's breath speed up, feels Deacon's hand slide back into his hair, fingers massaging against the scalp as Mac mimics the motion in the thick thatch. 

He hears Deacon gasp into his mouth as his fingers tease the base of his rapidly hardening dick. 

"Mmm, you like that?" Mac murmurs as he drags his lips away from Deacon's and trails down to his neck, pressing wet kisses to the straining sinew as his fingers dance up the length. 

"Stop fucking teasing," Deacon rasps, cupping Mac's chin and dragging him back up to kiss him roughly.

Mac laughs and pushes up on his elbow, leaning over to take control back on the kiss and get a decent angle as he envelops Deacon in a tight grip and starts to pump. 

Deacon moans into Mac's mouth, squirming under his touch, as he plants his feet and pushes up into Mac's hand. He's breathless, begging _please_ and _faster_ in a way that sings directly to Mac's dick.

He speeds up, squeezing and pulling, dragging every soft moan, grunt and whimper out of Deacon and savouring every one. When he hears Deacon's breath start to come in short, sharp gasps, he pulls back to stare down at his face. 

Deacon's eyes open, staring up at him with endless blue, his lips glistening and parted, and then his breath hiccups and his eyes close, back arching into endless oblivion as he releases over his stomach.

Mac guides him through it, hand slowing but not stopping until Deacon pushes it away. He watches as Deacon comes down, breath becoming deeper and limbs melting into the mattress. 

"I take passing out as the highest compliment," Mac murmurs as he reaches behind himself to grab a cloth and wipe Deacon down.

"Then I better wake up," Deacon says, looking up at Mac through hooded eyes. "Don't want you getting full of yourself."

"Too late. I'm already an 'arrogant little pipsqueak'," Mac says, throwing the cloth behind him and leaning over to coax Deacon into a slow, soft kiss. "Guess the only thing to do is to sleep."

"What about you?" Deacon asks, waving a hand towards Mac's crotch.

"I still owe you two," Mac says, taking Deacon's hand and putting it on his chest. "Seriously, sleep. We'll sort things out later." 

Deacon grumbles as Mac flops down beside him, but soon there's a light snore and Mac can't help but let it lull him into sleep.

When he wakes, Deacon's gone, and really, Mac should have expected it, but at the same time he was hoping... he was hoping something would be different. He rolls out of bed and scrubs his hands over his face. It's dark outside and he can smell dinner wafting through the windows. 

He pushes to his feet and dusts his clothes off before moving to the table to tidy up. He reaches for the bottle of whiskey and snorts.

In the centre of the table sit Deacon's glasses, their mirrored surface reflecting his face.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he looks over his shoulder to the door. He'd better get out there if he wants something to eat.

He's out the door in a flash, heading into the centre of Sanctuary where the cooking pits are set up. Deacon's nowhere to be seen, but that wasn't unexpected.

He ends up in line next to Nora, who fixes him with a critical eye. 

"Deacon says you're 'cool' now," she says with a tone of disbelief, gesturing off to the distance.

Mac squints and he can see Deacon leaning against one of the houses, a new pair of glasses perched on his nose.

"For once, Deacon isn't lying," Mac says, looking back at Nora with a told-you-so smirk.

"Why don't I believe you?" Nora asks as they shuffle forward in line.

"Because Deacon is generally untrustworthy?" Mac says, dancing out of the way with a laugh as Nora slaps his shoulder.

"Seriously, Bobby, what was it with you two? You just take an instant dislike to him after meeting him for five seconds?"

"Nah, we've known each other for a while," Mac says, looking over to where Deacon's slipping behind a house at the edge of town. "I met him in Bunker Hill."


End file.
